One of the things I'm asked most by people aux Etats-Unis: is there wildlife around where you live? Not exactly. Kandi is a large town along one of the (five or so) major highways in Benin. As much as I'd like to thing I'm roughing it out in the African bush, I'm not really in the bush at all. (Although ask people in Cotonou - even Peace Corps staff - and yes, they'd say, you live in the bush.) Even so, we have thousands and thousands of chickens, goats, and sheep that wander freely. Clearly people are able to keep tabs on them, although I have no idea how. Sometimes people tie scraps of fabric around goats' and sheeps' necks for identification because they really get around. Across the highway, into the market, up on the porches of school buildings, on the steps of mosques, through the yard at the health center, everywhere. Kandi also, like most of Benin (and much more so than Niger, certainly), has its fair share of dogs, who are sometimes fed and sometimes most definitely not. About seventy percent are candidates for another Human Society commercial featuring Sarah McLachlan's song "Angel" in the background. You know, the one that would make Michael Vick cry? Neutering does actually exist, if you were wondering, but no one does it, and sans anesthesia, it certainly is a huge risk for the dog. We just adopted two puppies for our workstation, as my concession dog, Pipo, just had three. Their names are Sasha and Malia, and they are the best-fed dogs in the Alibori, I'm pretty sure.
In terms of actual wildlife? We have scores of bushrats (which people sometimes eat), regular rats, and snakes. I've never actually seen one of these non-poisonous snakes, but sometimes the guards at the workstations get all excited because they got to hack one with their coup-coups. They make a point of telling us every time; they're always super proud. About forty kilometers to the north, there are elephants! The town of Alfa-Koara is one of the entrances to Parc W, a game reserve. Occasionally elephants will wander out and into surrounding villages. There are even elephant-crossing signs on the highway. Back in May or June, a young elephant wandered down to Kandi, or so I was told. Unfortunately this is not something I saw myself, but I have it on good word from a co-worker. Apparently a Fulani (semi-nomadic herder) saw it and tried to cut it with his coup-coup (sword). The elephant was all, "hell-to-the-no, sir," and stomped on him. Does it make me a terrible person if I kind of side with the elephant on that one? You just don't mess with elephants.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
When it rains, it pours
I'm off to Cotonou tomorrow for a 11-day soujourn in the south. I have my mid-service medical exam, where I shall be tested for everything under the Sahelian sun, will say goodbye to my good friend and Alibori teammate, Alex, and will assist in training the new group of health volunteers. I know that mentally, I really, really need to get out of Kandi. While I'm super grateful that I live in a regional workstation town and can now bank here, it means I never really leave. Still, going to the south has me riddled with anxiety. Having to negotiate taxi prices (even when I really don't know what they should be), dealing with Cotonou traffic, and just the palpable difference in the pace of life have me worried. Surely I can handle it for eleven days. Surely.
This week, in anticipation for the trip, has been more stressful than most. For whatever reason, I didn't go to the bank yesterday when I had time (aka laziness set in - it was awfully hot yesterday afternoon), so a line was added onto today's to-do list. Here's the thing about living here: it seems almost inevitable that you become paranoid. Case in point: this morning at circa 3:30, and I know because I was awake thinking about this trip, it started to rain. Usually rainstorms here are downpours that are deafening on tin roofs like mine. Oh no, I thought, there goes my morning run. The problem was, it didn't stop. At 8:45, I really started to panic. Why didn't I go to the bank yesterday? What if it doesn't stop raining, and I can't get there? (Because of course when it rains, the world stops here, and that most certainly includes moto taxi drivers.) Is the bank even open? I paced; I fretted some more; I cleared cobwebs from the flourescent lights; I tried to work on sodoku puzzles that I still can't seem to master. Finally, finally, at 10:45 the sky cleared up a bit, and I donned my rain jacket and set out. Very quickly, I noticed the fields around my house (some of which are rice fields) were completely flooded. All this gushing caramel-colored water had actually flooded the road, too. Lovely. I actually ended up just standing there, wondering how disgusting my feet would look after I waded through it, and if that would be acceptable in the relatively tiled and pristine Bank of Africa, Kandi branch. How has this become my life?!? Just then, a pickup truck of unknown origins, though somewhat official in appearance, pulled up to cross the river of liquidified goo, and you bet I flagged them down. I hopped in the back and made the acquaintance of three cotton executives from Cotonou. They drove me to the bank, where I thanked them profusely. Hitchhiking is not something I normally do, but desperate times.
The rest of the afternoon has been relatively uneventful, save for my annoying trip back to the tailor. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but there is a fundamental misunderstanding among African tailors/coutouriers regarding the average Western woman's body type. This time, this resulted in some extremely ill-fitting pants and a shirt, which although merely a copy of one I brought in for her, was much too small in the shoulders. "Ah," she said, "you've gotten fat." Thanks, madame, that's exactly what I needed. And fyi, I weigh exactly the same as when I arrived in this country. Telling a woman she's fat or has gotten fatter, is actually a compliment here; I've tried to explain how it's quite an insult in America, but somehow it just didn't register. Tomorrow, another day. Dieu merci.
This week, in anticipation for the trip, has been more stressful than most. For whatever reason, I didn't go to the bank yesterday when I had time (aka laziness set in - it was awfully hot yesterday afternoon), so a line was added onto today's to-do list. Here's the thing about living here: it seems almost inevitable that you become paranoid. Case in point: this morning at circa 3:30, and I know because I was awake thinking about this trip, it started to rain. Usually rainstorms here are downpours that are deafening on tin roofs like mine. Oh no, I thought, there goes my morning run. The problem was, it didn't stop. At 8:45, I really started to panic. Why didn't I go to the bank yesterday? What if it doesn't stop raining, and I can't get there? (Because of course when it rains, the world stops here, and that most certainly includes moto taxi drivers.) Is the bank even open? I paced; I fretted some more; I cleared cobwebs from the flourescent lights; I tried to work on sodoku puzzles that I still can't seem to master. Finally, finally, at 10:45 the sky cleared up a bit, and I donned my rain jacket and set out. Very quickly, I noticed the fields around my house (some of which are rice fields) were completely flooded. All this gushing caramel-colored water had actually flooded the road, too. Lovely. I actually ended up just standing there, wondering how disgusting my feet would look after I waded through it, and if that would be acceptable in the relatively tiled and pristine Bank of Africa, Kandi branch. How has this become my life?!? Just then, a pickup truck of unknown origins, though somewhat official in appearance, pulled up to cross the river of liquidified goo, and you bet I flagged them down. I hopped in the back and made the acquaintance of three cotton executives from Cotonou. They drove me to the bank, where I thanked them profusely. Hitchhiking is not something I normally do, but desperate times.
The rest of the afternoon has been relatively uneventful, save for my annoying trip back to the tailor. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but there is a fundamental misunderstanding among African tailors/coutouriers regarding the average Western woman's body type. This time, this resulted in some extremely ill-fitting pants and a shirt, which although merely a copy of one I brought in for her, was much too small in the shoulders. "Ah," she said, "you've gotten fat." Thanks, madame, that's exactly what I needed. And fyi, I weigh exactly the same as when I arrived in this country. Telling a woman she's fat or has gotten fatter, is actually a compliment here; I've tried to explain how it's quite an insult in America, but somehow it just didn't register. Tomorrow, another day. Dieu merci.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Assumption and Enriched Porridge
You know it's time for a vacation when you fall asleep by planning in detail the path your shopping cart will take when you go to Target again for the first time. As I write this, I'm listening to Justin Bieber. Times have gotten desperate, people. Today was the Feast of the Assumption, which I'm sure my more Catholic friends know about and could actually explain. I'm telling you, the Beninese who work for the government are so darn lucky. They have the day off for all Muslim, Christian, and voodoo holidays. I'm glad this "holiday" fell on a Wednesday, because Wednesday is the one weekday I don't have anything scheduled. I really dislike having to miss vaccinations and baby weighings. Wednesdays, though, in general, are not my friend. I don't like its lack of planned activities. Unstructured time and Africa do not mix well in my life. I'm relatively lucky, though. Remember in Niger how I would sit under a tree and greet people for three hours every morning? Thank goodness I'm not still doing that.
Today turned out to be relatively productive, though, partially due to my having made a to-do list last night in my planner. I woke up around 6:20 and plodded around my house for several minutes before deciding what to do next. I have this problem a lot here: either I'm getting older and more absent-minded, or I'm developing ADD. When it comes to household-y things, I'm constantly distracted. Anyway, because my hair was really grody, I heated up some water on the stove and washed it. It's so basic, but I'd only ever actually heated my bathwater up once or twice before. It seemed so, I don't know, unnecessary and diva-like. Even during harmattan, I'd just pretend like I was doing one of those polar plunge things in the dead of winter. But what a difference it makes. Hot water; what a concept, seriously. I then pulled about four pails' worth of water from the well to do laundry, an unbelievably boring task whose only redeeming quality is that it allows me to listen to music at the same time. Circa 9am, I decided to go for a run, which obviously rendered my prior hair-washing totally moot. Sigh.
In other news, I've attached a picture from our latest enriched porridge demonstration in Pede. The women really thought it was crazy that I suggested adding peanut butter and bananas to their regular porridge (which is essentially boiled flour and water). Two noteworthy things happened during this session: a twelve-year old (or at least pre-teen) girl brought a baby, and when I asked if it was hers, I was told it is her orphaned brother. Their mother died, so she is now in charge. Poor girl. This also means she cannot go to school . The health worker and I referred her and her charge to the social services center, where at least they can get some support in the form of bags of rice and corn. Hopefully this girl can go to school, but I'm not holding my breath. Then, a three year old who attended the cooking demonstration with her mom chose to pick up and infant and very precariously cart it around next to the fire where the porridge was cooking, and oh my God, I thought we were in for some third degree burns, but alas, everyone was safe. Still, kids are not taught to stay away from cooking fires here, and it freaks me out. I've seen several bad burns on adults and kids alike.
Today turned out to be relatively productive, though, partially due to my having made a to-do list last night in my planner. I woke up around 6:20 and plodded around my house for several minutes before deciding what to do next. I have this problem a lot here: either I'm getting older and more absent-minded, or I'm developing ADD. When it comes to household-y things, I'm constantly distracted. Anyway, because my hair was really grody, I heated up some water on the stove and washed it. It's so basic, but I'd only ever actually heated my bathwater up once or twice before. It seemed so, I don't know, unnecessary and diva-like. Even during harmattan, I'd just pretend like I was doing one of those polar plunge things in the dead of winter. But what a difference it makes. Hot water; what a concept, seriously. I then pulled about four pails' worth of water from the well to do laundry, an unbelievably boring task whose only redeeming quality is that it allows me to listen to music at the same time. Circa 9am, I decided to go for a run, which obviously rendered my prior hair-washing totally moot. Sigh.
In other news, I've attached a picture from our latest enriched porridge demonstration in Pede. The women really thought it was crazy that I suggested adding peanut butter and bananas to their regular porridge (which is essentially boiled flour and water). Two noteworthy things happened during this session: a twelve-year old (or at least pre-teen) girl brought a baby, and when I asked if it was hers, I was told it is her orphaned brother. Their mother died, so she is now in charge. Poor girl. This also means she cannot go to school . The health worker and I referred her and her charge to the social services center, where at least they can get some support in the form of bags of rice and corn. Hopefully this girl can go to school, but I'm not holding my breath. Then, a three year old who attended the cooking demonstration with her mom chose to pick up and infant and very precariously cart it around next to the fire where the porridge was cooking, and oh my God, I thought we were in for some third degree burns, but alas, everyone was safe. Still, kids are not taught to stay away from cooking fires here, and it freaks me out. I've seen several bad burns on adults and kids alike.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Meet my co-workers, or the cast of characters
I thought it might be fun to describe the cast of characters who make up the dramedy that is my life here. I've already told you all about my neighbors, and that was enjoyable reading, n'est-ce pas? Okay, allons-y!
Bio - (pronounced like Bee-yo): He is probably in his early 40s but has a very world weary visage and is thin as a rail. I'm not sure what his actual title is (something like a nurse's assistant), but he is the main vaccine guy at our health center. Day in and day out he uses a cooler as a chair and gives shots to hundreds of screaming newborns and their moms. He speaks every language in this area: French, Bariba, Dendi, Peuhl, and Mokole. Anytime any of us need a translator, we always ask, "Ou est Bio?" Given his vast knowledge of local language, I hired him as my Bariba tutor, and together we went to Parakou for a week-long Peace Corps training. Teaching turned out not to be Bio's strong point, and so I had the painful task of firing him. Telling him was heartbreaking, especially because I knew he was grateful for the extra income, which would have amounted to an extra 6,000 cfa (or about $12) a month.. Still, though, he never is without a smile for me! He's a gem and has my back. When we go out to the bush villages, he finds me a Bio-approved zem (motorcycle taxi) and negotiates the price for me. Super nice.
Jonas - Somewhat short in stature though not in character, Jonas is the head nurse/"majeur" at the health center. Given that our health center has been without a doctor since my arrival in Kandi, he does most of the non-ob/gyn consultations. His usual uniform is a t-shirt and dress pants. I saw him wear tissue for the first time only last week. He has a very distinctive grin-and-raised-eyebrow expression whenever he sees me, which resembles both the Cheshire Cat and the Grinch. Jonas both giggles a lot and values what I'm trying to do at the health center, which makes him one of my favorite people in Kandi. Yay for Jonas!
Souley (Soolay) - I help Souley on Tuesdays and Fridays with vaccination paperwork in one of the old hospital buildings. Souley is a big old guy who sort of waddles around in his flipflops and is generally amiable but sometimes has some strong words for the apprentice nurses' aides. When he gets disgusted he is fond of asking, "Vraiment?", which is uttered in the tone of "are you serious?" And side note: "are you serious?" doesn't translate very well here. I say it all the time, but it's totally ineffective. Anyway, Souley knows me as 'Helene,' not Erin, but I just go with it. He sometimes sports one of those Old Navy t-shirts with the American flag that they make each year for the 4th of July. Somehow a truckload of the 2001 version ended up in Kandi along, apparently, with the Chicago Blackhawks jersey I saw in the market the other day. And a t-shirt advertising a plumbing company in Palatine, which I would have stolen off the man's back had he not been on a moto.
Diallo - Diallo is an administrator at the zone sanitaire, which is across from the hospital and is the equivalent of the county health department. They keep epidemiological statistics and do public health outreach, etc., and also collaborate with UNICEF and other NGOs. I don't really understand what Diallo does there, but he's friends with my Peace Corps supervisor, which I think partially explains why he takes an interest in my work. I alternately love and hate Diallo, depending on if he shows up to our meetings and how aggressively he hits on me. When we do have meetings, he always helps me out; if he doesn't know the answer to a question, he knows the person who does, so I'm very grateful to have him in my corner. Despite he protests of my fake husband and my own multiple refusals, Diallo likes to ask me to go out dancing with him at the Maison Blanche, our town's one and only nightclub. Like Jonas, he is a fan of the dress pants and t-shirt look. My favorite is the Greek Life 1992 shirt from an undetermined US college; he looks much sharper when he sports a boomba. Everyone around town knows his lime green blob of a sports car and its Togolese license plates, which seem vaguely shady.
Eric - Eric is my newest acquaintance, which is really, really funny because he's the guy at the health center responsible for following the cases of malnourished kids. Why did I only meet Eric last month? That's an excellent question! Eric is from the South; Cotonou, I believe. He sports a gold and silver necklace that reads, "love." This makes me vaguely suspicious. In going with the theme of no one other than Diallo actually getting my name right, he calls me "Lockey." He seems incredibly knowledgeable with regards to his work, so here's hoping our collaboration goes smoothly.
Everyone else is pretty much a tertiary character, which includes my colleagues at the social services center, my host organization. For the first six months in Kandi, I spent every afternoon there, but I never actually did anything. It was a lot of...sitting. Happily, I've branched out and have been able to better address the nutritional/health/whatever needs of the community via other groups. I do like them all, though, so I'll give them a quick shout-out: Bonjour Innocent, Salima, Djima, Cecile, et Immaculee! Okay, I'll sign off now. I have a radio show to write!
Bio - (pronounced like Bee-yo): He is probably in his early 40s but has a very world weary visage and is thin as a rail. I'm not sure what his actual title is (something like a nurse's assistant), but he is the main vaccine guy at our health center. Day in and day out he uses a cooler as a chair and gives shots to hundreds of screaming newborns and their moms. He speaks every language in this area: French, Bariba, Dendi, Peuhl, and Mokole. Anytime any of us need a translator, we always ask, "Ou est Bio?" Given his vast knowledge of local language, I hired him as my Bariba tutor, and together we went to Parakou for a week-long Peace Corps training. Teaching turned out not to be Bio's strong point, and so I had the painful task of firing him. Telling him was heartbreaking, especially because I knew he was grateful for the extra income, which would have amounted to an extra 6,000 cfa (or about $12) a month.. Still, though, he never is without a smile for me! He's a gem and has my back. When we go out to the bush villages, he finds me a Bio-approved zem (motorcycle taxi) and negotiates the price for me. Super nice.
Jonas - Somewhat short in stature though not in character, Jonas is the head nurse/"majeur" at the health center. Given that our health center has been without a doctor since my arrival in Kandi, he does most of the non-ob/gyn consultations. His usual uniform is a t-shirt and dress pants. I saw him wear tissue for the first time only last week. He has a very distinctive grin-and-raised-eyebrow expression whenever he sees me, which resembles both the Cheshire Cat and the Grinch. Jonas both giggles a lot and values what I'm trying to do at the health center, which makes him one of my favorite people in Kandi. Yay for Jonas!
Souley (Soolay) - I help Souley on Tuesdays and Fridays with vaccination paperwork in one of the old hospital buildings. Souley is a big old guy who sort of waddles around in his flipflops and is generally amiable but sometimes has some strong words for the apprentice nurses' aides. When he gets disgusted he is fond of asking, "Vraiment?", which is uttered in the tone of "are you serious?" And side note: "are you serious?" doesn't translate very well here. I say it all the time, but it's totally ineffective. Anyway, Souley knows me as 'Helene,' not Erin, but I just go with it. He sometimes sports one of those Old Navy t-shirts with the American flag that they make each year for the 4th of July. Somehow a truckload of the 2001 version ended up in Kandi along, apparently, with the Chicago Blackhawks jersey I saw in the market the other day. And a t-shirt advertising a plumbing company in Palatine, which I would have stolen off the man's back had he not been on a moto.
Diallo - Diallo is an administrator at the zone sanitaire, which is across from the hospital and is the equivalent of the county health department. They keep epidemiological statistics and do public health outreach, etc., and also collaborate with UNICEF and other NGOs. I don't really understand what Diallo does there, but he's friends with my Peace Corps supervisor, which I think partially explains why he takes an interest in my work. I alternately love and hate Diallo, depending on if he shows up to our meetings and how aggressively he hits on me. When we do have meetings, he always helps me out; if he doesn't know the answer to a question, he knows the person who does, so I'm very grateful to have him in my corner. Despite he protests of my fake husband and my own multiple refusals, Diallo likes to ask me to go out dancing with him at the Maison Blanche, our town's one and only nightclub. Like Jonas, he is a fan of the dress pants and t-shirt look. My favorite is the Greek Life 1992 shirt from an undetermined US college; he looks much sharper when he sports a boomba. Everyone around town knows his lime green blob of a sports car and its Togolese license plates, which seem vaguely shady.
Eric - Eric is my newest acquaintance, which is really, really funny because he's the guy at the health center responsible for following the cases of malnourished kids. Why did I only meet Eric last month? That's an excellent question! Eric is from the South; Cotonou, I believe. He sports a gold and silver necklace that reads, "love." This makes me vaguely suspicious. In going with the theme of no one other than Diallo actually getting my name right, he calls me "Lockey." He seems incredibly knowledgeable with regards to his work, so here's hoping our collaboration goes smoothly.
Everyone else is pretty much a tertiary character, which includes my colleagues at the social services center, my host organization. For the first six months in Kandi, I spent every afternoon there, but I never actually did anything. It was a lot of...sitting. Happily, I've branched out and have been able to better address the nutritional/health/whatever needs of the community via other groups. I do like them all, though, so I'll give them a quick shout-out: Bonjour Innocent, Salima, Djima, Cecile, et Immaculee! Okay, I'll sign off now. I have a radio show to write!
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